


Whistle of the Fart

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Dave Strider, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Humanstuck, Inspired by Studio Ghibli, M/M, Set in the dubious time period of the 1990's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-04 07:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: Everyone knows the story. Girl likes to write and read. Boy likes music and the girl. He, being naïve and weird as hell, checks out every book in the library to get the girl to notice him. She notices him. They fall in love. He goes to Italy, and she writes an entire novel.This...This probably isn't that story.(A DaveKat retelling of Ghibli's 1995 classic, Whisper of the Heart.)





	1. I dreamed of living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I dreamed of living alone but fearless_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from the version of _Country Roads _that's in the movie. If you watch it, I recommend switching to the dub for the singing scene. Good music.__ This is just the intro.

**Wednesday, June 12**

A young man lays in the grass, near the shore of a small, steadily flowing brook. His brown skin blends with the rich coloration of the meandering tree roots nearby, and his wild black hair mirrors the scales of a few of the carefree fish, which swim in the clear waters. He holds a book in front of his face, angling it so that it blocks out the sun. It just so happens that today is this young man's eighteenth birthday. His name is Karkat Vantas and, while other soon-to-be high school seniors would rather be partying on this particular occasion, he is very much enjoying his calm, relaxing day.

Nearby, there's an electric whine. A few distorted notes play and, after a few seconds, the discordant noise morphs into a song, "Take Me Home, Country Roads". Clearly, an ice cream truck is near. Karkat lackadaisically plucks a nearby dandelion from the ground and shoves it into his library copy of  _Lord of the Rings_ , which he then throws into his bag. He stretches, yawns, and stands up.

At around this time, the truck comes into view. It turns the corner on the road a few feet away, and slows to a stop. The window opens, revealing the staffer of the truck. He's a man Karkat recognizes from school, though he doesn't know his name. His skin is perpetually pale, no matter the season, and his hair is an obviously fake golden blond. Even now, in the flickering lights inside the truck, the opaque white roots of the man's hair show through the dye. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of reflective black aviators, and it seems to Karkat that the man never takes the ugly sunglasses off.

Today is hot, however, and the fact that Karkat knows the staff doesn't deter him. After checking his wallet and assuring he has some money, Karkat approaches the vehicle.

Yet, as he nears it, the man behind the counter waves and holds up a single finger. "Hang on, bud, I've really got to piss."

"You... What?" Karkat sputters.

The man doesn't answer. Instead, he stumbles from the truck, waddles over to a nearby tree, and proceeds to take a piss. To his credit, though, he uses some hand sanitizer afterwards. That, however, isn't nearly enough to make up for the absolute fuckery that's been witnessed.

Karkat pockets his wallet and sprints, leaving the truck far behind by the time the disgusting asshole has returned to his post. He takes his bike, which was leaning against a nearby tree, and rides the hell out of Dodge.

"Fucking lovely," he huffs, speaking to no one in particular. "Well, at least that disgusting fuck can't ruin my day any more than—"

Karkat's thoughts come to an abrupt halt as he careens to the side. He tumbles into the grass first, followed shortly thereafter by his bike. After a few moments of shock, he stumbles to his feet. He brushes the bike off, checks it to make sure it's in working order, and stares at the obstacle he'd swerved to avoid.

Sitting in the middle of the bike path is the bumper of a van. While this normally wouldn't arouse any suspicion, the bumper is clearly emblazoned with the Blue Bunny colors. Beyond this glaring admission of guilt, the path is now trisected by tire tracks.

"Fucking prick." Karkat grunts, pulls some bandages from his bag, and applies them to the superficial cuts he's sustained. Then, with his formerly pristine day thoroughly ruined, he rides home.

When he returns, he finds himself in an empty house. This isn't exactly surprising. His mother is on a business trip, and his father is at work. He welcomes the solitude, though; explaining his fresh wounds isn't something he feels like doing.

With a huff of frustration, he tosses his bag aside. It lands, with a resounding thump, beside the coat rack. He pulls his book from its depths, and returns to his room. There, he finishes the last few pages he had left. He flips the final, blank page and stares at the library card inside. Only one other person has checked the book out, though this isn't surprising to him. It's a fine book, and its formidable spine bore few creases before he got his hands on it. What  _does_ surprise him is the name: Dave Strider.

Out of a mixture of boredom and curiosity, Karkat rises from his bed. He studies the haphazard, unstable stack of books on his bedside desk. From the fray, he pries the only other library books he currently has:  _Dune_ and  _Ender's Game_. As he expected, at the back of both, the same name is listed on the checkout card. Dave Strider.

He sets aside the books and lets forth a thoughtful sigh as he ponders over the possibilities.  _Who is Dave Strider?_ he wonders.

Clearly, Dave Strider is someone interesting. Hopefully, he's cute as hell, too. Either way, he has the same taste in books, and that certainly means something...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm a fuck who doesn't beta read, so let me know about any typos. This is mostly a writing exercise for funsies.


	2. Secret longing to be courageous

**Thursday, June 13**

The air is thick with humidity and the sort of heat that seems to squeeze every drop of sweat from your body. The early morning forecasts called for some small, isolated, and unexpected storms. However, none of this bothers Karkat. He revels in the warmth, and enjoys spending time in his mother's prized rose garden.

Its not really a garden, though; a more apt description would be "a section of the front yard." Nevertheless, nestled amidst the rose bushes clustered in front of the home, there's a wrought iron bench. Today, the heat has drawn all of the neighborhood kids inside. Obviously, this means that it's a perfect day to grab a good book and read.

Before he can do that, though, Karkat has to go check a few more books out. His voracious appetite for literature has led him to complete all three of his most recent library acquisitions.

Thus, as of noon, he finds himself in his preferred section of the local library: science fiction and fantasy. Today, he chooses his books arbitrarily. As his last three checkouts were rather large, he's looking to get a few smaller books.

"Hey." A voice draws Karkat's attention. However, when nothing more is heard, he   Shrugs it off. He plucks a copy of _The Master and Margarita_ from the shelf and begins the thumb through it. The pages are old, worn, and yellowed. The spine is cracked so many times that it's hard to read it's title.

"Good book, bad translation." The voice comes again, this time offering unwanted commentary.

A startled Karkat fumbles with his book and peers through the space between the tops of the books and the shelf above it. As the shelf has no backing, he can see through to the other side. Mirrored against reflective black aviators, he sees his own confounded reflection. "What the hell?" he whispers, hoarsely, "Did I fucking ask for your opinion?"

By now, the shades are gone, as are their owner. He, now dubbed "Asshole McGhee" by Karkat, has trotted around the shelves. Now, he stands in front of Karkat. His arms are crossed, his shoulder leans against the sturdier shelf to his left, and a cocky grin is spread across his face. "It's a good book," he says. "That's a bad translation, though. I don't know why, but it is. Spare yourself the trouble and try the more recent versions."

"I don't take advice from jackasses, and especially not from the sort who pisses in the fucking woods in front of strangers," huffs Karkat. He clutches the book to his chest and eyes Asshole over with a pointed wariness. "And, as I so kindly said before, I don't remember asking for your fucking opinion."

"Whatever." Asshole shrugs. His stupid grin widens, infuriating an already annoyed Karkat. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Here, he offers a dismissive wave. He turns, buries his hands in his pockets, and trots away.

Naturally, Karkat continues with his business. Nonetheless, when he arrives at the front desk, he's sure to air his grievances. He doesn't do so unprovoked, though. In fact, when he arrives at the checkout desk, he finds himself face-to-face with his father.

"You look like someone took a dump in your bed," his father comments, his gentle smile doing nothing to calm his son. "What's up?"

"Remember that fucking—" Karkat begins.

His father cuts him off. "We're in public."

A small snarl precedes the rest of Karkat's answer. "Remember the guy I told you about? The one who pissed in the park and left a bumper in the middle of the bike trail?"

"Mhm." Karkat's father nods. He records the data onto the books' cards with the utmost care and precision. "You see him again?"

"Yeah. He was just in here, telling me how crappy some book I picked was."

"Well, you'll form our own opinion of the book." A firm nod, then a quiet plod as the final book's cover is shut. "Just go home and forget about it. We're having kadhi for dinner. That's your favorite, right?" The commentary is reinforced by an encouraging smile.

Karkat, however, still replies with a noncommittal shrug.

"Hm. Not even a smile? This is serious!" Here, Karkat's father feigns deep thought. He strokes his thick, well-groomed beard. Then, he offers a sly grin. "I can make jalebi to go with it. Will that help?"

At this point, Karkat can't help but show interest. "Fine," he grudgingly admits defeat. His father knows him too well; he's always been a sucker for jalebi. "I'll see you later."

"Perhaps you'll be in a better mood by the time I'm back."

Again, Karkat offers a careless shrug. He gathers his books, shoves them into his bag, and goes outside.

As per usual, he rides his bike home. It's a short trip, and he immediately opens his bag when he arrives.

Before he begins to read, however, he can't help but check the cards at the back. Once again, emblazoned across each one, there's a familiar name: Dave Strider.

A snort of laughter escapes Karkat.

Dave has better taste than whoever that pale fuck is; his name is listed on the card for _The Master and Margarita_. No, whoever this Dave Strider is, he's the exact opposite of Asshole McGhee. There's no doubt in Karkat's mind that Dave Strider is a refined, well-versed, and upright individual.

A wistful sigh. A pensive hum.

Karkat, having settled into his spot on the bench, cracks open _The Master and Margarita_ and begins to read. However, much to his consternation, he finds that Asshole was right. The book, despite all the praises he's heard sung about it, is awful. He sets it aside after only a few pages, and sets about reading from a collection of Ray Bradbury stories.

The fact that Asshole was right bothers Karkat, and it becomes a persistent itch on his conscience. However, it never develops into the nagging, gnawing sensation it would have; jalebi has a way of lessening even the most embarrassing revelations.


	3. Loneliness kept bottled up inside

The summer passes as every summer has before it: slowly. The days drag on and on, each as repetitive as the next. Nevertheless, Karkat keeps himself busy. Having read every fantasy book in his high school's library, he's set his eyes on a much loftier goal. This summer, he plans on reading every fantasy book in the public library. (Of course, he won't read anything he's already read.)

Today is yet another routine checkout day. Having read all his prior acquisitions, he now returns to the library. At this point, his bag is filled with new reading material, and he's set to ride back home. As he mounts his bike, however, he spots something.

A particularly fat cat stares at him. Its fur is a smoky grey, though a black patch loops around its right eye and ear. Its gaze never wanders and, after a few moments, Karkat decides to investigate.

He puts the lock back onto his bike. Slowly, he approaches the cat.

Once he's within a yard of it, the cat gets up and sprints.

Wanting nothing more than something out of the ordinary to entertain him, Karkat follows.

He finds himself on the ritzier side of town. Every house is at least two stories tall, and only one lacks a garage. He wanders down streets lined with pristinely maintained sidewalks and, eventually, he finds himself in a cul de sac.

The cat is perched atop the overhang leading to a place Karkat has never seen before. Its cheerful green door is shut tightly, but the name of the shop is emblazoned upon its window: Vagnozzi's Antiques. He takes note of the name, then return to where he’d left his bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. sorry. i'm going to have a longer one next time.


End file.
